


The Cop and the Prince

by Amara1783



Series: The Cop and the Prince [2]
Category: Kindred: The Embraced
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kneeling, M/M, Mind Control, Post-Series, Rating May Change, Vampires, Vigilantism, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 09:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amara1783/pseuds/Amara1783
Summary: Frank goes to Julian for help when a criminal is about to go free. Set some time after the end of the series and 'A necessary conversation'.Everyone seems to get to kiss Julian's hand in the series but Frank - this seemed unfair, so I wrote this.





	The Cop and the Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Contains non-graphic references to violence, rape, and rape and murder of minors. Also plotting of murder and vigilantism.
> 
> Comments and concrit greatly appreciated :D

Julian sat by the fire in his study, staring into the flames, a glass of red wine cradled in his hand. He was feeling very alone this evening. The fog had rolled in over the city with the setting of the sun, softening the edges of things and making sound carry in unfamiliar ways. It was a good night to be inside by a warm fire, and yet the very comfort of it seemed to heighten his loneliness.

It had been two months since Archon had gone willingly to his execution. Julian missed him as if it had been yesterday. It felt like a part of himself was gone. No wonder, really; his sire had been part of his life since Julian’s embrace. He had saved him from the grief of Evelyn’s death, from the anger and the helplessness and the guilt. Archon had guided him into a world where he had kin and kind to fight for and protect, where there was an honourable outlet for his grief and pain.

Lillie had left him too, stepping down as head of the Toreador clan and heading to Berlin. She was off to find herself, she said, to discover who she was. He wished her all the best, but he missed her. They had been friends and lovers a long time. The house seemed very empty with both Archon and Lillie gone.

The new head of the Toreador was a sculptress named Tessa. She had all the artistic passion of her Toreador blood, but also the patience to see beauty emerge from stone and metal and clay. He liked her, respected her, and in time he thought there might be friendship there.

Sasha had, ironically and unexpectedly, emerged as the primogen of the Brujah clan. Much of the old guard had been killed in the turmoil after Eddie’s death, and Cameron had proved unable to hang on as leader, his one purpose - bringing down Julian - having been so thoroughly defeated. The Brujah found him too slick, too cultured, too restrained; too much, in short, like a Ventrue. He had been killed, and his death had left the Brujah without a primogen for the second time in as many months, and set off a spate of killings that decimated the clan, and left Sasha in charge of the more sensible and least gangsterish of those who remained. The rest, outnumbered, had fled to LA and to Cyrus - and would no doubt be a problem for another time.

Julian sighed and sipped his wine.

It was unheard of for a Kindred who numbered mere weeks since her embrace to become primogen of a clan - any clan, let alone one in a major city like San Francisco. And yet she had older Brujah following her leadership, listening to her calls for a new path for the Brujah, a path that was also a return to their ancient ways, thousands of years ago, when they had been warrior poets and scholars rather than common thugs.

She was finding a way to unite the fury and disappointment at the world that she’d had as a human with the passion and rage of her Brujah blood. Julian felt proud, as well as, still, regret for the violent manner of her embrace. She still had her room here, but she also had her own house that she shared with her lieutenants, and spent most of her time there.

He missed her.

His brooding was interrupted by a quiet knock.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened to reveal Frank, in what was possibly the least dramatic entrance the detective had ever made, at least in Julian’s experience. His amusement quickly shifted to concern however - Frank looked terrible. His eyes were bleak, and he was moving without the energy that normally seemed to fizz under the surface of his skin.

Julian rose, apprehensive, and started across the room. That this human whom he had grown to consider a friend should come here, on a night such as this, with such a look on his face concerned him.

Frank tracked his movements in the overly deliberate way that drunk people had, having to focus all their attention on their current task - but as far as Julian could tell Frank wasn’t drunk; there was no scent of alcohol about him and his pupils weren’t dilated.

Frank walked towards him, paused for a moment, and then, very deliberately, sank to his knees, took Julian’s hand, and kissed it.

Julian allowed it, too surprised to do anything else.

“I have come to ask for justice from the prince,” said Frank, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and despair on his face. Julian couldn’t tell which emotion was for him - perhaps both were.

Julian raised Frank gently to his feet. “Come,” he said, and guided him over to the couch and sat down beside him.

“It’s not a Kindred matter,“ said Frank, wretchedly. "The monster is human. All the monsters involved in this are human.”

“What’s happened, Frank?”

The cop took a shuddering breath and met his eyes.

"The case we’ve been working, we know who did it. Guy goes out and targets runaways, rapes them, tortures them, kills them. Kids nobody will miss, often without families, with no one to speak for them. Evidence goes missing. The DA doesn’t want to prosecute. The mayor got on the phone with the chief. The perp’s brother owns Rapidovista, and as far as the higher-ups are concerned that means we can’t touch him.”

Frank wrenched his fingers through his hair and let his head drop forward, slumping into himself. Julian let him talk himself out.

“They’re all monsters, all corrupt monsters, willing to let this guy keep killing, just because of who he is, who his brother is. I arrested him, his brother sends a fancy lawyer, and he walked right out of there, just like that, this stupid smug smile on his face.”

“The DA refused to believe based on the profile that it was the work of one person because the victims were too different - not all the same gender or race or hair colour - and the method not specific enough, not exactly the same in each case, as if that makes any of them any less dead. They were just kids.”

Frank tossed the file he’d been holding onto the table. “Here, take a look.”

Julian opened it, taking in the glossy crime scene photos and the carefully written up statements; evidence linking the brother of the founder of one of San Francisco’s hottest tech startups, Rapidovista, with gruesome rape and murder.

No wonder the mayor wanted this to go away. It had all the potential ingredients for a major months-long scandal; the sort of salacious details the media would feast on, that would have San Francisco in the news for all the wrong reasons. It would scare away tourists. It would scare away investors.

Julian took his time examining the evidence, going over it piece by piece, recognising Sonny’s handwriting in some of the notes, more legible than what must be Frank’s. The picture the file painted was of thorough policework - a solid investigation building a case that should not have been so easily dismissed.

Frank watched him, surprisingly patient, until he’d finished and closed the file.

“I know, Prince Julian, that’s it’s not Kindred business, but these kids are dying. Please.”

He met Frank’s eyes. “I don’t care that he’s human.” Julian’s voice was cold anger. “I will not have this scum living in my city.”

Frank felt relieved, that this man, this prince he had come to trust, was as horrified by these crimes as he was. Julian’s anger was pure and right; it felt clean. The last days had left Frank wanting to scrub his skin raw to remove the taint of dealing with people who thought the lives of teenagers were less important than their own careers and their own standing. The irony of the situation did not escape him. Kindred weren’t human - they were supposed to be the stuff of nightmares, soulless vampires who struck in the dark - but now humans were the monsters and the supposed monsters were… nothing of the kind.

At least, not in this city, under the rule of this prince.

“Frank, why come to me?” Julian asked gently. “You don’t need my help taking out one guy - you killed a Kindred.”

Frank looked away, uncomfortable.

“I’m a cop. My dad was a cop. I don’t … I can’t be a vigilante. I need… a second perspective on this. Someone I trust,” he said, meeting Julian’s eyes.

For a moment Julian was lost in those eyes, in their vulnerability and openness.

The unexpected intimacy of those words was a shock, and Julian felt his chest tighten. For a moment he was speechless. He wanted to reach out, wanted a physical connection between them, but humans were odd about such things. Especially human men.

He yearned for a way to show his affection for Frank, that his trust was honoured and returned.

If Frank were Kindred he would have offered his hand for him to kiss, and then turned it over and offered him his wrist and his blood, a sign of trust and a way for a prince to honour one of his own.

Instead Julian put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, and squeezed. Frank relaxed beneath his touch.

“Thank you for your trust,” said Julian. “Where does this scum live?”

“Mission Bay.”

Julian crossed to his desk, picked up the intercom and ordered his car brought around. He looked up at Frank. “I need to change,” he said, and left the room. Frank, not wanting to be alone, followed after him, down the hall and into his bedroom.

Julian gave no indication that he wanted privacy. He changed into black jeans and a black shirt, his movements deliberate and precise, opening drawers and cupboards and decisively selecting what he wanted. He donned a shoulder holster - beautiful black leather, custom made - and slid in two Glock 17s, after safety checking them with effortless, automatic competence. He selected several knives of various sizes and tucked them away about his person - under the cuff of his jeans, beneath the sleeve of his black leather jacket, nestled at the small of his back.

The ease of Julian’s preparations comforted Frank; steadied him.

“Hopefully I won’t need any of these, Frank,” said Julian. “My plan is to make it look like a suicide. Kindred have… a power, an ability to overwhelm another’s will and coerce them to do their bidding. But it pays to be prepared.”

Frank nodded. He knew he was supposed to be horrified and repulsed by this, as a human, but he wasn’t. He had failed to be repulsed by Kindred ever since first beginning to learn of them from Alexandra.

“Cash will drive us to Mission Bay and disable the security cameras. I will execute Perlos, and we’ll return here afterwards. I’ll call your lieutenant to come get you, saying you showed up at my house, and that I don’t want to make it official - which will give you an alibi, even though you shouldn’t need one”

Frank nodded. It seemed a sound plan.

“What about Sonny?” he asked.

“I’ll fill him in later tonight.”

Downstairs the car was waiting for them. Cash opened the rear door and Frank got in, scooting over to allow Julian to enter behind him. He sank into the soft leather seating as Julian gave Cash Perlos' address. Frank could not remember ever having had the door opened for him, and his only previous experience of a limo had been at his wedding. He wished he could enjoy it. As it was, he was too wound up to appreciate it properly, though he did notice the smoothness of the suspension as they pulled out of the driveway.

Julian picked up on his mood and said "He's killed three times already. He'll kill again if he's not stopped. You did right to bring this to me, Frank."

Those words shouldn't have comforted him, but they did, and the fact that they comforted him was itself worrying.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Midnight voice' is a term borrowed from Anne Bishop's Black Jewels books (which I highly recommend) - it seemed appropriate to describe the implacable, calm way that Julian addresses Starkweather, which is the same tone he uses here.


End file.
